


i told my love to wreck it all

by perpetualskies



Series: but it's hard […] when you're asphyxiating on the floor [2]
Category: Bastille
Genre: Alternate Universe - In the Flesh (TV), Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, In the Flesh (TV) - Freeform, M/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 03:55:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2214837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetualskies/pseuds/perpetualskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>I am a Partially Deceased Syndrome sufferer, and what I did in my untreated state was not my fault.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	i told my love to wreck it all

**Author's Note:**

> An AU for the BBC Three series "In the Flesh". If you don't know it, I recommend at least skimming the Wiki page. I pictured Kyle being 17 and Dan 18 before the Rising. No spoilers past S01E02 (the “spoilers” being only background descriptions anyway). Greg is Alex, obviously. Someone bring him back because I liked him. 
> 
> There are some allusions to terminal illness and mentioning of hospitals.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction and means no disrespect towards the parties depicted within. Please do NOT share this with the band or anyone associated with it, or spread it around anywhere. (That includes posting links to this on any other site (like twitter etc.) or tweeting the band about it or any other crap like that.)
> 
> Title from Bon Iver's “Skinny Love”. Concrit is always welcome.

_I am a Partially Deceased Syndrome sufferer, and what I did in my untreated state was not my fault._

Dan repeats it religiously. Shepherd says his brain is rebooting, whatever that means exactly, but in case it stalls or crashes, he needs this information lodged as deeply as possible, accessible even when all else fails. He will wear these words like an armour if he needs to. He will _never_ hunt again.

 

_I am a Partially Deceased Syndrome sufferer, and what I did in my untreated state was not my fault._

“Brown or blue?” the facility worker asks when handing out the contact lenses, and Dan actually has to stop and think.

 

_I am a Partially Deceased Syndrome sufferer, and what I did – what I did in my untreated state – was not my –_

Dan is sitting at the edge of the bed, leg bouncing nervously against the pristine sheets. The bed across from him is untouched. Greg was supposed to be here with him. Now, Greg is probably being _taken care of_. Dan clenches his fists, remembering the chucked up black of his intestines smeared across the white tiles. Being tasered hurts, even for the undead.

Still more than an hour until someone will come to pick him up. He thinks _someone_ because he still doesn't fully believe his mum will actually be there, wanting him back like _this._

 

_I – I am –_

His mum doesn't cry, even though her bottom lip quivers dangerously, and Dan is infinitely thankful for that. He isn't worried about it being embarrassing or anything of the like. He is worried that if she cries, he will start crying too, and the cover-up mousse will wear off faster than he can roll PDSS off his heavy tongue, disobedient still, despite all the speech therapy.

 

_– what I did –_

He asks, “What's the HVF?” and watches her knuckles turn white on the steering wheel.

 

_– in my untreated state –_

“You kept my room.”

“Just like you left it,” she says, and steps aside to let him in.

It really is the same. Jam-packed bookcases, one by the window and one next to the bed, walls covered in film posters and magazine clippings. His keyboard in the corner, _Dan Smith_ painted on the front in blocky white letters. He sits down at his desk, swivelling in the revolving chair, once, twice. His eyes land on a strip of photo booth pictures pinned to a magnetic pencil holder. Clearly 2011, judging by the surreal state of Dan's hair. Kyle is making a series of ridiculous faces and Dan is countering with a set of his own.

Dan takes the pictures and hides them in the bottom drawer of his desk.

 

_iamapartiallydeceasedsyndromesuffererandwhatididinmyuntreatedstate –_

His mother takes time off from work to help him settle in. He tells her he can be by himself, really, but he's glad when she stays nonetheless. He sleeps with the lights on, always, because he can't stand waking up in the dark. It reminds him of –

They play board games and watch DVDs, and it's a lot like the time spent at the hospital, except without an IV line dangling from his arm and having to pretend not to notice her puffy red eyes. He doesn't want to go out yet. The flashbacks are most vivid right after the shots, but even without them, Dan feels vulnerable and inadequate, as if intruding upon a world that is not meant for him. The unprompted black bile sometimes coming up his throat or the awkward unpredictable twists of his joints are not helping the matter.

He's rolled up on the living room couch, flicking through the pages of a worn out paperback, when the telephone rings and his mother goes to pick it up.

Dan recognises the low lilt of Kyle's voice and frantically shakes his head. His mother hesitates, then says, “No, love, I'm afraid he can't talk right now – I will – you too, love.”

“Dan, are you sure –” she begins, but he is already out of the room.

 

_– MY FAULT –_

The local news are showing an angry mob rounding on an overwhelmed government official. Some of the protesters are holding up signs, _Rotters Out_ and _Never Again_ they read. The man is still trying to reason with them, stuttering about _government regulations_ and _a new chance for everyone_ , but it's no use. Defeated, he and his assistant get in the car and speed off.

Dan turns off the TV and looks at his mother. “Rotters? Is that what they are calling us?”

The helpless lift of her shoulders says it all.

 

_PDSSPDSSPDSSPDSSPDSSPD –_

His mother goes back to work. From time to time, the telephone rings, and Dan waits it out with his headphones on, hands rubbing nervously at the injection spot at the back of his neck.

 

_(...)_

Dan's in the kitchen, making tea he can't drink out of habit, when he hears Kyle's voice at the door, and he rushes upstairs, cursing at himself when he almost trips on the landing. He only has time to readjust his contacts, fingers shaking terribly, when Kyle knocks and walks in a moment later.

He's tall, taller than before, and handsome, growing the beard he'd been talking about, and generally just all the things Dan missed so desperately since the first time his brain started responding to the treatment, the Neurotriptyline kicking in in all the right places, apparently.

Kyle takes a step forward and Dan backs away until the back of his legs hit the bed. He sinks down onto it, burying his face in his hands.

“I...I am –” he tries to bring up the words he's been so diligently memorising, and fails. “You can't _be_ here, Kyle. Around me, you can't be around _me_. You don't know what I've done when I was –” _Untreated. Partially Deceased. Not my fault._ Dan's breathing is shallow, and for a moment he thinks he can feel his heart hammering in his chest again.

The mattress dips low under Kyle's weight and Dan scrambles away until his back hits the wall.

“You're a bloody wanker, Daniel Smith, _that's_ what you are. Coming back from the dead and not calling up your best mates? Woody says _fuck you too._ ” His voice is raw but steady, and Dan laughs shakily despite himself. He's hugging his knees, trying to take up as little space as possible, but Kyle doesn't try to move any closer. Instead, he reaches for his backpack.

“I've got something of yours. Thought you might want it back.” A moment later, he's unfurling the familiar hoodie with the wolf print on the back. Dan remembers giving it to him not long before – well, _before_. He takes it in his hands, gingerly brushing his fingers through the fabric. It was his favourite. The print has little cracks running through it but is undamaged otherwise.

“I couldn't actually wear it, you know.”

Dan lunges forward, arms circling around Kyle's waist, pressing into him as close as he can. “I'm so sorry,” Dan says. “I'm so so sorry.” Kyle just holds him close for a very long time.

 

_What are you, Daniel?_

Kyle starts coming around every other day, just spending time with Dan, easing into old familiarity, filling him in on what's been happening. Woody and Chrissy are still dating. Will gave up the cello and took up the bass instead; he let Kyle play it once and he almost fainted from holding his breath in concentration. They don't speak much about the Rising. They will eventually, but Dan's glad they aren't for the time being.

Dan shows Kyle how to administer the medicine and how to react in case of sudden flashbacks. Kyle says he wants to train as a PDS care officer, making Dan's chest strain under a wave of emotions, and he flees into the bathroom to re-apply the cover-up mousse, afraid the ugly black veins will protrude in a sort of morbid blush.

Dan's mother is visibly relieved by the turn of events. “It's so good to have you back, Kyle,” she lets him know.

“It's good to _be_ back, Mrs. S,” Kyle replies, and Dan punches him in the arm and rolls his eyes, but he's grinning like a fool.

They start making little trips outside, timid rounds in the garden first, then down the street, and by the end of the week, Dan goes into the supermarket by himself (Kyle is waiting outside, just in case). He's all bundled up, wearing sunglasses although there's no sun out, but he holds the bottle of orange juice up like a trophy.

A week later, celebrating the longest stretch without flashbacks yet, Kyle takes him to the funfair. Even counting from when Dan was alive – the first time around –, it's been a while since they have got to enjoy themselves so freely; the antiseptic smell of the hospital just never really left. Dan asks him to buy him candy floss even though he can't eat it; he chews on a bit and spits it out, and feeds the rest of it to Kyle. After the swing carousel, Kyle slips his hand into the pocket of Dan's hoodie, entwining their fingers, and doesn't let go for the rest of the day.

They run into someone from school, someone who's insensitive enough to yell, “Hey, I've been to your funeral!” across half the fair, and Dan freezes, hearing Kyle shout something back but not being able to understand a single word. Kyle tugs him forward, asking, “Are you ok?” and Dan nods but says, “Take me home, yeah?” They walk back in awkward silence for the most part, Kyle occasionally starting and breaking off apologies mid-sentence, Dan making non-committal little _hmms_ and staring off into the misty landscape, but he doesn't let Kyle's fingers slip away an inch.

Back at Dan's, Kyle hovers in the doorway, watching anxiously as Dan moves into the room, turning on every single light. He opens his mouth, probably to apologise again, and Dan walks over to him, shaking his head. He looks at him for a moment, expression unreadable, his pupils always a little blown nowadays, then quite firmly cups Kyle's face with both hands, and pulls him down into a kiss.

He tastes sweet, like the candy floss, and Dan licks carefully along the bottom lip before gently taking it between his teeth, hearing Kyle sigh against his lips.

He's smiling a little sheepishly when he pulls back. “Been thinking about that for a while,” he admits.

“Yeah?” Kyle says, pulling him closer by the waist, and Dan nods and kisses him again, slow and languid and with all the time in the world.

 

***

 

Dan keeps watching the news, HVF units parading in various parts of the country, the PDS Protection Act being broken on a daily basis, and he always falls quiet afterwards, speaking only in monosyllables, staying motionless for a long while.

Kyle doesn't like seeing him that way, but he understands that it's important for Dan, and he watches them with him. One of those nights, after Dan finally lets go of the remote, he reaches out and circles his fingers around Kyle's wrist, thumb pressing down on the pulse point, and tells him about Greg.

“He wasn't like me,” Dan says quietly. “He wasn't ashamed.”

Kyle moves his hand so he can lace their fingers together. “It's going to be alright,” he says and Dan looks at him and smiles, genuinely smiles. He never said it at the hospital – he must really believe it then.

And somehow, Dan does too.


End file.
